It started with the cookies
by Necrophobia
Summary: If only I knew . . .


_~ For Melissa. Why can't you see what everyone else can?_

* * *

It started with the cookies.

Just one bite. That's all it took. One heavenly bite into the warm,

chocolaty baked good, soft crumbs trickling down like teardrops, was

all it took to ruin my life forever.

I remember the day when I read the article in the newspaper.

_"Local girl found dead in public bathroom"_

_"Lissa Johnson, a teenage girl renowned for her superb literary and_

_mathematical accomplishments at her high school, was found dead in the_

_ladies' toilets at a McDonalds. The sixteen year old was found keeled_

_over a toilet, passing out after forcing herself to regurgitate a large_

_meal consumed earlier that day. A toddler who had simply wanted to go_

_to the toilet had crawled under the locked cubicle door and discovered_

_the body. Vomit was found in the toilet and on the floor and has been_

_found to contain a series of McDonalds products. An autopsy ruled out_

_drug overdose or suicide. Johnson's stomach showed signs of early_

_necrosis as well as a ruptured esophagus. The cause of death has been_

_determined as – "_

I skipped the rest of the details. They had seemed irrelevant and

unnecessary at the time. Regurgitated a large meal, eh? I decided to test it out.

I bounded downstairs to the plate of fresh, warm chocolate chip

cookies my mother had thoughtfully left out for my sister and me. I

grabbed the whole plate and brought it up to my room, locking the door

with a 'click'.

I bit into the first cookie.

Delicious.

Then another.

Heaven.

And another.

And another.

Soon I had finished the whole plate and was feeling sick, regretting

what I had done. Now, I thought, time to test it out. I walked slowly

into my bathroom, holding my swollen stomach with one hand and closing

the door behind me. I turned on the shower, the water running noisily. I tied my hair back with a hair tie from my wrist and lifted up the toilet seat.

When my stomach was empty, I slumped down, exhausted next to the

toilet and smiled. I had just discovered a way to eat as much as I

wanted and not get fat! Excitement bubbled up inside me and as I

flushed the remains of the cookies down the toilet I couldn't help the

satisfied smile that crept onto my features.

If only I knew.

~†~

I want to walk in the snow and leave no footprints.

~†~

"I mean, I like my arms and my stomach and everything, it's just my

thighs! Gosh, they're HUGE!"

Maxine gazed at Monique's reflection in the mirror; a skinny, light

mocha skinned girl with thick brown hair, straightened with an iron

everyday religiously.

"Hmmm," she said. She was sure to position herself so that she

couldn't see her own reflection in the mirror.

"Anyway," Monique said, "What do you wanna get when we go shopping? I'm thinking of getting a few tops or something, how bout you?"

"I don't really want to buy anything," Maxine said quietly.

"Nonsense," Monique scoffed. "I'm gonna pick out an outfit for you, okay? You can't go wearing baggy shirts and jeans for the rest of your life."

Yes I can, Maxine thought. But on the outside she grinned sheepishly. It was all an act.

How long could she go on smiling while she was breaking on the inside?

~†~

I'm not there yet, but I'm closer than I was yesterday.

~†~

Maxine locked the door to her room and started to peel off the layers

of her clothes. Finally, she stood in only her underwear in front of

the full length mirror before her.

Greasy hair.

Big nose.

Small lips.

Chubby face.

Thick neck.

Broad shoulders.

Flabby arms.

Sausage fingers.

Big boobs.

Non existent waist.

Bloated stomach.

Wide hips.

Ginormous thighs.

Huge calves.

Chunky ankles.

Puffy feet.

Fucking disgusting.

~†~

Perfection - /pərˈfɛkʃən/ noun.

Being without defect or blemish; Pure; Undiluted; Thin.

~†~

Maxine stared at Monique.

Her once thick wild hair had thinned and frayed out. Her face was sunken in, her dark brown eyes big and tired looking. Thin bony fingers drummed against the table, the fingernails tinged a ghostly blue. Her frail matchstick body seemed to shrink in the clothes that had once fit her perfectly in primary school. When she bent down and her shirt ridded up, every single bone in her spine protruded out of her skin like broken glass.

And Maxine was jealous.

Why couldn't _she _have that body?

Those bones.

That gap between her thighs.

The concave stomach.

Monique had everything; looks, money, brains, thinness. And yet Monique always seemed so sad, but how could she when she had everything she could wish for.

~†~

Thin.

Thinner.

Thinnest.

~†~

"Why don't you just get a fucking job?" Maxine's father shouted. " You want to spend all my money on clothes and shoes and fancy restaurants? Use your own fucking money!"

"You bastard!" Her mother shouted back. "You're so ugly, did you know that? Your face is so disgusting!"

Later that day, Maxine was watching television with her mother and sister on the couch.

"You know, Max," her mother said lazily, "You look a lot like your father. Ella, on the other hand takes more after me." she turned back to watching the television's banter.

Bastard.

So ugly.

Disgusting.

~†~

The shouting.

It never seemed to stop.

"Just give the kids away!" her mother screamed at her father. "I don't want them anymore! I don't want them!"

She couldn't take it anymore.

It was too much.

It was all too much.

"Shut up!" Maxine screamed from her room.

"_You_ shut up! You stupid bitch!"

"Fuck off, I'm sick of you shouting at everyone all the time! Why do you have to be like this?"

"Fuck off yourself, bitch! It's your fault that I'm like this. _It's all your fault_!"

Bitch

It's all your fault.

Fault.

Fault.

Stupid.

Pathetic.

Hopeless.

Disappointment.

Fat.

Bitch.

She grabbed the first thing she could lay her hands on; a paperclip.

She pulled her jeans down, exposing her pale stomach.

Cut. Cut. Cut.

Slash. Slash. Slash

Sting. Sting. Sting.

She wrote once, twice, over and over, the word 'BITCH' imprinting itself on her hip.

When it seemed inflamed enough, Maxine wiped her tears away from her eyes and pressed them hard into her hip, the pain overwhelming her like a drug.

~†~

The blood is the silent tears I cannot cry.

~†~

"Sweetie, I'm sorry about earlier."

She sat down on Maxine's bed, the duvet wrinkling under her weight. "I forgot to take my pills this morning so that's why I was a little ... out of sorts. Plus your father was pissing me off. You understand, don't you?"

She nodded, yes.

But deep down she did not.

She didn't understand why her mother only loved her on the days when her mother remembered to take her pills.

~†~

"If you don't eat anything, you'll die!" Maxine hissed.

"Well, what about you?" Monique crossed her skinny arms defiantly,

"You didn't eat much either."

"Wh-what?" Maxine asked, stunned, "I ate WAY more than you. I had the

ice cream and the sushi and the bread and dips AND the fish. I ate so

much and all you ate was a sushi and salad."

"Yeah, so? That's still not much."

"You ate hardly ANYTHING!"

"Whatever," Monique said dismissively and walked away.

~†~

I don't care if it hurts, I want to have control; I want a perfect

body, I want a perfect soul.

~†~

Chocolate. Chips. Ice cream. Lollies. Everything was devoured as soon as Maxine's eyes landed on it.

She knew she would regret it. And she knew what she would be doing to get rid of the guilt. But she couldn't stop.

It was impossible.

~†~

"Haven't you had enough to eat?"

No

It's never enough.

I want it.

More.

More.

Always more.

~†~

"Just eat one prawn," Monique's mother asked, holding out the measly

bit of seafood at her daughter.

By the way Monique was looking at the prawn, her eyes wide with fear, it would seem as though her mother was offering her poison.

~†~

"Won't you eat more?"

I can't.

It's hard

Too hard for me.

I won't lose this control.

Control

Control.

I need it.

~†~

"Are you sure you don't want any?" Maxine asked, her mouth overflowing with melted chocolate.

"No thanks," Monique said quietly and seemed to shrink in her chair, her face glowing an unearthly pale shade in the dim light of the cooking show she was watching on her mum's phone.

The chocolate fondue couldn't go quick enough down her throat. Maxine

wolfed down the strawberries and marshmallows and bananas used for

dipping, then brought the bowl of melted chocolate to her lips and

slurped the rich, gooey mixture down her gullet.

"Well you know how to enjoy yourself," Monique commented.

Maxine looked at the empty bowl of chocolate and immediately felt

guilty. How could she eat so much? Her stomach was stretched to

breaking point, uncomfortably full. And yet, if there was more, she

would still eat it.

"Can we go home now?" she asked her mother quietly. "I need to have a shower to get all this chocolate of me." she gestured to her sticky hands.

"Okay, just get your sister,"

"Ella, come on. We're going."

Ella looked up from her Nintendo, dazed at the sudden human contact.

~†~

One thrust. Gag. Two thrusts. Gag. Three. Release. And repeat.

~†~

How could Monique have so much control? All I want is control, why can't I just be like her?

~†~

"Hello?" Monique's mother said.

"Um, hi this is Maxine, could I please speak to Monique?"

"Yeah, sure."

There was a crackling sound as the phone was passed on.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Monique. How've you been?"

"Well, seeing as I haven't been at school, not so good."

"So what do you have? A cold? Gastro?"

Monique cleared her throat. "Yeah, something like that."

"Well I hope you get better soon. You're so lucky, missing out on school. We have so much homework and we've only been back from holidays for a week."

"Um, can I tell you something?" Monique said uncomfortably.

"Yeah, sure."

"But you can't tell anybody, not even your mum. You have to promise."

"Okay, okay I promise and if I tell anyone I will, um. I promise, okay?"

"I have anorexia."

~†~

Once I noticed that I was unwanted. That day I stopped eating, even the food doesn't want me.

~†~

"She's in hospital."

The world seemed distant, unimportant. Maxine's head started to spin.

She felt dizzy, sick with disbelief. Surely this was all just a bad dream that she would wake up from soon.

"Maxine! Are you still there?" Monique's mother's voice crackled through the receiver.

"Um, yeah," Maxine said, still dazed.

"I'll give you her hospital number to ring, okay? You got a pen?"

Maxine scribbled down the number robotically and hung up. She lent against her bed for a while, tears beginning to well upon her eyes.

She took a deep breath, then dialed the number.

"Hello?"

Monique's familiar voice echoed through the phone.

"Hi," Maxine said.

"Oh, hi Max,"

And with that, Maxine burst into tears.

~†~

I was forever staring at the tender blue veins along the inside of my wrists; fragile twigs trapped under ice.

~†~

Clutching the safety pin, wild eyed, Maxine took raggedy breaths trying to compose herself.

Anorexia.

Hospital.

All your fault.

Fault.

Fault.

Stupid.

Fat.

Bitch.

She dragged the safety pin across her skin, relishing at the sting, the relief.

Slash. Slash. Slash.

She stopped and admired her handiwork; the word 'FAT' written in angry red capitals across her forearm.

~†~

Why didn't I just say something?

Why didn't I just stuff a piece of cake down her throat?

It's all my fault.

I should be the one in hospital.

I deserve it.

Not her.

I should be the one to die.

~†~

Better dead than fat.

~†~

"Why do you do it?" Maxine asked.

"Because I'm so fat." Monique whispered.

"What? You're not fat!"

"On the last few days before I was admitted into hospital," Monique said, "I felt great! Sure I felt dizzy and as sick as hell, but I knew that I had lost weight. When I lose weight, I feel better about myself."

~†~

I'm the one who has to die when it's time for me to die, so let me live my life the way I want to.

~†~

Maxine couldn't stop. The food seemed like it was on a conveyor belt running straight to her mouth. She was eating far too much, too fast; she wasn't even enjoying it.

~†~

So this is what it feels like to be fucking disgusting?

Worthless.

Pathetic.

A failure.

I deserve it.

I knew what I was doing when I started.

Stuffing my face,

eating eating and eating.

I knew I shouldn't,

and I could feel my heart beating.

faster faster and faster.

I earned it.

A huge stomach?

Worthless.

Pathetic.

A failure.

I deserve it.

Look in the mirror,

and what do I see?

A big fat pig staring back at me.

I'm a failure,

and this?

This embarassment?

I earned it.

Being fat forever?

I deserve it

~†~

She stuck her fingers down her throat, choking. Again and again. A

flash of colour obscuring her fingures stopped her. She looked down at

her fingers; a dark, sinister liquid staining them.

What was it?

Chocolate?

It seemed too dark for chocolate; the reddish tinge taunting her,

dripping down, down, down into the vast emptiness.

~†~

No one hears me cry.

~†~

Maxine ran a hand through her hair, sighing. The maths problem danced

around in front of her, the numbers and letters transforming into

black squiggles that wrapped themselves around her eyes. She lowered

her hand back to her pencil, strands of dirty blonde hair fluttered

onto her maths book like autumn leaves. Surprised, she ran her hand

through her hair again, more hair falling out then before.

What was happening to her?

~†~

Shortness of breath

Quicker heart beat

Am I in love?

No

I'm fat.

Oh god.

~†~

"Dental hygiene's good, although I'm going to have to give you two

fillings." The Dentist said, pulling back from her open mouth.

Maxine gulped. She'd never had a filling before.

"Also, you might have to get braces. Your front teeth appear to have

been pushed forward and your over jet is quite large."

She nodded.

"Tell me, did you ever suck your thumb or do something to push your

teeth forward when you were younger?"

"No."

~†~

Why won't you look at me?

I thought

You liked skinny girls?

I'm not enough.

Too little.

Oh god.

~†~

Ow.

Her stomach hurt.

Ow.

Her throat burned.

Ow.

Her mouth was sore.

Ow.

Her head throbbed.

Everything hurt. It hurt so bad. It hurt so much.

~†~

It's not fun anymore.

Help me stop.

Help me.

* * *

**Dear reader,**

**Okay, I know that I really should update my other story but . . . (sprints away from computer).**

**Tell me what you think,**

**Chao outside,**

**Necrophobia :)**


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